The Life After
by hamsterpickle1313
Summary: Some people can stand to let go of the past and live in the present. Elliot… well, he's never been really good at letting go. What would happen if he were to go too far with his interrogation tactics and end up fired? One sided EO. Songfic. I own nothing.


**Disclaimer: I don't own the Viva la Vida lyrics or SVU. Those belong to my best buddies (Heh. I wish.) Coldplay and Dick Wolf.**

**Summary: Some people can stand to let go of the past and live in the present. Elliot… well, he's never been really good at letting go. What would happen if he were to go too far with his interrogation tactics and end up losing his job? EO I guess.**

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Blue eyes watch from the shadows, eyes that are full of pain and regret. Pain, regret, and maybe even a little jealousy. The man that the eyes belong to leans on his windowsill and watches the flashing blue and red lights below him without seeing. He listens to the sirens without hearing. That's all behind him, in a different life. A very different life.

_I used to rule the world,  
__Seas would rise when I gave the word.  
__Now in the mornings I sleep alone,  
__Sweep the streets I used to own._

_She_ still looks the same. Brunette hair with chocolate brown eyes, tall, and beautiful. But then again… maybe not. Her eyes, they're the same color as before, but now there's a spark missing. Her eyes are now tired, lifeless and sad. He misses the old days, the days of seven years ago. The days when he brought criminals to justice and worried too much about upsetting his wife and protecting his partner.

_I used to roll the dice,  
__Feel the fear in my enemy's eyes,  
__Listen as the crowd would sing,  
__Now the old king is dead! Long live the king!_

He used to be a cop. A good one, too. They say that you don't know what you've got until it's gone. They're telling the truth. He used to have a partner-who-he-was-not-in-love-with. He used to have a job, something to distract him from the miseries of life. Now he has nothing.

_One minute I held the key,  
__Next the walls were closed on me,  
__And I discovered that my castles stand  
__Upon pillars of salt and pillars of sand._

He once said that his partner and his job were the only two things he had left in the world. He never knew how much that statement defined him. The loss of his job has left him with a lingering numbness. The loss of his partner has left his heart shattered. Seeing her again has made him all the more aware of the pain.

_I hear Jerusalem bells a-ringing,  
__Roman cavalry choirs are singing,  
__Be my mirror, my sword, and shield,  
__My missionary in a foreign field._

His wife left him after he lost his job, and he hasn't seen either her or his kids since. He has nothing left to live for in the world, nothing at all. He has hardly spoken since he lost everything, hasn't even left his dingy Harlem apartment except to buy food and, once, to withdraw all his money from the bank. He is a chained dog, who only watches as the world passes by.

_For some reason I can't explain,  
__Once you'd gone there was never,  
__Never an honest word,  
__And that was when I ruled the world._

He doesn't know, nor care, why the police are here. He knows someone must have been attacked. It's not exactly the greatest part of town. He wishes he could care. But he doesn't. One more death, one more victim, what does it matter? His caring got him into trouble, and now he has stopped caring. He is hardly even a human anymore. He is a shell of what he once was, a body without a soul. He got this apartment through an old friend, and he lives on welfare. A lifeless pile of skin and bones living off of government welfare, like the slugs he used to hate.

_It was the wicked and wild wind,  
__Blew down the doors to let me in,  
__The shattered windows and the sound of drums,  
__People couldn't believe what I'd become._

He still can't let go of it, his job. He no longer cares what happens to him, nor to anyone else. Save for one person. His former partner. Until he lost her, she was just a friend. Now, he realizes that she was the only thing holding him to life. Without her, he would have been gone long before he went. Now he's gone, far gone. There's nothing to believe in anymore, but he doesn't want her hurt. He's tempted to go down and gather her in his arms, but stays put. Maybe all those years of staying put made him forget how to leave.

_Revolutionaries wait,  
__For my head on a silver plate,  
__Just a puppet on a lonely string,  
__Oh, who would ever wanna be king?_

He watches as she talks to the locals, notebook in hand. His _replacement_ stands next to her, nodding at something. Jealousy flashes through him again, bringing a tinge of surprise to the man who can't feel anything. He is surprised that she can stick with a replacement, surprised that he actually still has the strength to feel jealous. He sighs heavily, breath fogging up the frigid window.

_I hear Jerusalem bells a-ringing,  
__Roman cavalry choirs are singing,  
__Be my mirror, my sword, and shield,  
__My missionary in a foreign field._

Why did this have to happen to him? Why him? He was only doing his job. Well, mostly. He feels a shadow of the rage he felt in that moment, but only a shadow. He can't feel anything more. The man he killed deserved to be killed. _That_ man abused three little girls for ten years each. But the higher authority didn't see it that way. They saw it as a cop trying to be a vigilante.

_For some reason I can't explain,  
__I know Saint Peter won't call my name,  
__Never an honest word,  
__But that was when I ruled the world._

He has made his decision. Standing up, he stiffly moves toward the door to his apartment. The door creaks as he opens it, the sound echoing in the deserted hallway. His knees protest as he slowly starts down the stairs, past cases rushing through his mind. Times when he almost lost her. With Gitano. Harris. Rojas. They managed to pull through then, only for him to be fired a year later. Twelve years of partnership ended with one stupid move.

_I hear Jerusalem bells a-ringing,  
__Roman cavalry choirs are singing,  
__Be my mirror, my sword, and shield,  
__My missionary in a foreign field._

He opens the front door to his building, and sees her standing only thirty yards away, across the street. He waves away the officers who try to intercept him with a muttered "Gotta talk to her." Coming up behind her, he taps her on the shoulder. She turns, and he looks into her eyes, the eyes full of sadness. He realizes now that he loves her. He always has.

_For some reason I can't explain,  
__I know Saint Peter won't call my name,  
__Never an honest word,  
__And that was when I ruled the world._

Her voice is a hoarse whisper as her eyes show that she desperately wants to believe in what she's seeing. Her partner tries to interject a "Sir?" but she gestures for him to be silent_. "Elliot?"_

He nods slowly. At that moment, his heart cracks a little more at the longing look in her eyes, the one that mirrors the one in his heart. And it breaks all the way when she pulls him into a hug, one that smacks of broken promises and deep regrets. Olivia Benson pulls back from the hug to introduce him to her partner, and Elliot Stabler manages to get by without saying a word, until Olivia asks him to come back to the precinct with her. Then he just has to say it, for the last time.

"Bye 'Liv."

And without further ado, he turns and walks back into the building. She's obviously moved on, and he cannot. Elliot Stabler's never been very good at moving on. And so he retreats back into his self-induced exile, goes back to his chair by the window, and continues to watch the world wander by. Because he's not comfortable with anything else anymore. Because he's never been good at solving problems with anything but his fists. And because he can't stand the smell of fresh air without Olivia there to smell it with him.


End file.
